“Where?”
“Where we shall be to-morrow afternoon,” replies the Count.
To-morrow, I say to myself. Then we are not bound for the coast of Africa, nor even the Azores. There only remains the hypothesis that we are making for the Bermudas.
Count d’Artigas is about to go down the hatchway when I interrogate him in my turn:
“Sir,” I exclaim, “I desire to know, I have the right to know, where I am going, and——”
“Here, Warder Gaydon,” he interrupted, “you have no rights. All you have to do is to answer when you are spoken to.” “I protest!”
“Protest, then,” replies this haughty and imperious personage, glancing at me menacingly.
Then he disappears down the hatchway, leaving me face to face with Engineer Serko.
“If I were you, Warder Gaydon, I would resign myself to the inevitable,” remarks the latter with a smile. “When one is caught in a trap——”
“One can cry out, I suppose?”